Expiration Date
by cloudosaurus
Summary: "We've got an expiration date, Matty," Mello says, watching the redhead out of the corner of his eye as he kicks off his combat boots and steps out onto their balcony. [Angst. Introspective vignette.]


"We've got an expiration date, Matty," Mello says, watching the redhead out of the corner of his eye as he kicks off his combat boots and steps out onto their balcony. It's a late November night, and the chilly air sends a trail of goosebumps skittering up his bare arms. Mello shivers, but stays put.

He's wearing a black leather vest with no sleeves and leather pants that cling to him like sin, and Matt doesn't even spare him a glance. Doesn't even ask Mello where he's been till two in the morning or why he's covered in bruises and smells like gunpowder.

Matt just stares out into the black nothingness of empty sky and city haze, eyes glassed over and a cigarette dangling from his lips. But that's alright, because this is what Mello signed up for. This is what Mello wanted.

The redhead takes a long drag. The smoke curls up, and Mello watches it until it disappears into the dark grey smog.

Then, Matt blinks, and Mello thinks he can see the gears shifting in his head. He still doesn't turn around, keeps leaning on his elbows over the edge of the railing just a bit too far. Far enough that someone down below might think he was going to jump from the seventh floor, just because he could and wanted to try it once before dying.

But Matt doesn't jump, not yet, and hums, seeming to consider Mello's words. He turns his head a little, enough to read the blond's expression. But Mello doesn't let him, keeps a poker face like he has no idea who the hell Matt is, so the redhead turns back around and up at the starless sky, as though it has the answers he's searching for.

Matt sighs, finally, and Mello can tell that he's decided what to say. He doesn't say it though. Makes the blond wait. Takes another drag. Then reaches up with thin, pale fingers to take the cancer stick from his mouth and tap it against the metal bar. His hand shakes more than it used to, and the blond thinks the breeze will steal the cigarette along with the ash. It doesn't. Matt's fingers grip it like a vice, like if it was gone, he'd be gone chasing it, too.

"You think so?" Matt's voice is raspy. It gets hoarser every day.

"I know," Mello says, putting emphasis on the know.

The cancer stick goes back to his mouth. He doesn't smoke this time, just places it between his lips as if it feels good there. Belongs there. Mello watches as Matt's eyebrows scrunch and he worries the cigarette like he's mulling over Mello's answer, tasting his words. Mello knows that Matt's lips are thin and chapped and bruise too easily when he kisses them.

"Oh yeah?" Matt quirks an eyebrow. "You know when, too?" The words slide off the redhead's tongue easily and his tone is almost cheery, like they're having a conversation about the release of a new movie. The kinds of things that most kids their age would talk about. But Matt's smile is wry, a little too forced at the corners of his mouth that are sharp rather than round.

"Soon," says Mello.

Matt hunches, scoots a little closer to the railing. Peers down at the cracked concrete roads and the lights of cars that fade in and out of their sight. He hides his face behind the fur of his hood, but Mello can tell that his jaw is moving. Knows that Matt's biting the cigarette, now. That soon, he's going to reach into his back pocket for a new one and ask Mello to light it because that's easier than trying to get it done with hands that can't stop trembling.

The balcony light flickers off. They should replace it, but both of them know that they're never going to. Matt's cigarette glows red in the dark.

Then the light flickers on again, and Matt finally turns around. Finally faces Mello. He leans against the railing, back pressed against it like he needs it to stand. Like he's not at all worried that the joints are loose and creak as he props his elbows onto the bar. He's a little shorter than Mello, even more now that he's slouched, and stares up at the blond almost defiantly. Mello stares back.

Matt's skin is pallid. His eyes are sunken in and the dark grey circles underneath them never disappear, like bruises that can't heal. His red hair is stringy and overgrown, but he refuses to get a haircut. Hasn't stepped out of the apartment for a whole month, and won't let the blond do it either. Matt doesn't say that he wants to hide behind the bangs, but Mello can hear him.

The freckles that used to dance across the redhead's cheeks are long gone, and his face looks ashen. His cheekbones are gaunt, their hollows too prominent. They look empty, just like his eyes. Waiting to be filled.

Matt coughs. The sound is wet. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and Mello can see blue-green veins through the thin skin of his throat. His eyes follow them down to the jut of his collarbone, to dark hickeys that should have disappeared by now.

The redhead shifts, pulling his hoodie tighter around his chest. Even under the layers, Mello can tell that he's lost more weight.

"Well, damn," Matt says. His lips form words around the cigarette. "Coulda gotten used to some of the things around here."

His eyes say everything that his mouth doesn't as he looks up at Mello, and he doesn't try to smile this time.

It's the blond's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Yeah?" he asks, not really asking.

"Yeah."

Matt leans in for a kiss, and even though he reeks of tobacco and has rancid breath and is still clutching the cigarette in one hand, Mello lets him.


End file.
